


Safe

by fictive_frolic



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21833761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictive_frolic/pseuds/fictive_frolic
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, past bruce banner/ reaader
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

“Bruce?” 

The scientist was still hunched over his work table, typing. He was trying not to think. At least not about you. It felt like his heart had been rubbed raw. He couldn’t be angry at you. You’d had a good reason. Several good reasons.

You had wanted to come first for once. Just once. You were tired of playing second fiddle to Tony. To the lab. To his career. Just once, you wanted to be more than an after thought. And when he couldn’t. No, Bruce amended fairly. Wouldn’t. You had left. Gone to do, well. He didn’t know what. Find yourself he guessed. 

Nat’s voice at the door of his lab made him look up slowly, “Yeah?” he sighed.

“I just- I just thought I’d let you know,” she said, “Fury and Hill are on their way to go coax Y/N to come back.”

Bruce feels his heart twist. 

Six months.

It had been Six fucking months and the sound of your name still made his chest hurt.

“Okay,” he said, looking away and trying to hide the thrill he got at the thought of seeing you. He knew it was masochistic. You didn’t want him back. Not after that last fight. Not after the things he spat at you between clenched teeth. The past you trusted him with and he threw in your face in a moment of anger. 

“Are you gonna be okay?” she asked, “I mean…” She trailed off and gestured vaguely around at the lab. It was chaos. Styrofoam ramen cups, coffee cups, half-eaten pastry. Piles of papers. Files. Smashed electronics awaiting Tony’s rescue. 

“I’m fine,” he said smiling, “She’s a good asset. Our Training department needs her. Not only that but, she’s good to have in a fight.”

“Yeah. Okay but,” Natasha sighed, “You guys didn’t really part ways on good terms.”

“Who does?” Bruce snorted. 

“We did,” Nat pointed out.

“Nat, that’s different.”

“No it isn’t,” she said laughing softly, “Look Bruce, we made better friends than lovers. You and Y/N can’t work as either one. Not for lack of trying. On her part.”

Bruce winced, “I know but look. It’s fine.”

“Are you gonna stop lying to me if I tell you she has a boyfriend?”

Natasha watched several emotions cross Bruce’s face and his brown irises start to turn green. at the pupil for a moment. A distinctly Hulk growl rip from his throat for a moment.

“She’s a big girl,” Bruce said forcing calm he didn’t feel. “She can be with anyone she wants.”

Natasha sighed and threw her hands up, “This is why she left, Bruce,” she said roughly, “you can’t even admit you’re jealous.”

“So she doesn’t have a boyfriend?”

She gave him a withering look and left. 

_____________

Everyone was glad to have you back. You were a sort of fan favorite. Quick with a joke. Friendly. Helpful. Well read. Everyone was glad to have you at their back and just as glad to have yours. They had all missed you when you left. A few of them hadn’t spoken to him for the better part of a week. They had ALL heard the things he said. 

Tony. Tony had meant well. He had assumed he was going to be getting footage of a proposal. Not a tearful argument where Bruce called you a needy child and had none too gently said that if you wanted attention maybe you should go back to being a sugar baby. You know. Where people paid to have you whine at them. As long as he lives, he’s not going to forget the look on your face. It was like he had slapped you. He wanted you to hit him, honestly. He’d earned it. But you hadn’t. You’d ran away from him. Directly into a sea of people that had just heard Bruce get mad at you for asking for him to come upstairs with you because you were tired and just wanted to be cuddled for a while. Bruce hadn’t wanted to. He was about to go back to his lab. He was already irritated that you’d pulled him away from a conversation.

He tried to stay out of the way. Tuck himself into a small space. But god, even from across the room. You look good. Real good. Flushed and bright-eyed. Laughing. You always did good when you had someone to adore you, he reflected. In the beginning, at the first blush of your relationship, Bruce had given you that. Flowers. Picnics. Time and effort. He wasn’t sure when the shift had happened. When he got so used to you he stopped trying. But it was clear this new guy wasn’t there yet.

His hand hovered at the small of your back and, despite the number of frankly gorgeous women in the room, his eye rarely if ever wandered. Not that Bruce wondered why. You looked sexy. Innocently sexy. It was the knee socks, he was pretty sure. And the black kitten heels. With a black leather pinafore dress and an emerald green blouse. Out of place in all the slinky dresses but, oddly perfect. You were perfect. You looked up at the new guy with these big starry eyes. Holding his hand and playing with his fingers.

Bruce felt nauseous. He knew it was an anxious tic. Needing something to fidget with. He also knew that’s why you didn’t have a drink. Or at least he hoped. He didn’t think he could watch you have someone else’s kid. Not even from a distance. 

Bruce sat up when Tony leaned on the bar next to him and sighed, “I’m not gonna go talk to her. Not right now.” he said, taking a pull from his beer. He couldn’t get drunk. Not since the accident but it still brought some comfort.

“Well, you should,” Tony said snorting as Thor lifted you off your feet in his excitement at seen you returned to the tower. Bucky, Sam, and several others had done similar things upon seeing you again. It had made the new guy uncomfortable, Bruce imagined. Seeing you casually manhandled. 

“Why?” Bruce snorted, “She’s happy. Why ruin it?”

Tony smiled a little, “Because, Bruce. Half the people here are waiting for you to Hulk out and put the guy through a table.”

“I’m not that macho,” he said ruefully, “Y/N is a big girl. We’ve been broken up six months. I dunno how long she’s been with this one-”

“Charlie,” Tony interjected.

“Been with Charlie,” Bruce continued, “But it looks like he makes her happier than I did. And that he was smart enough to follow her back out here.”

“Look. Just go say Hi and make nice for a second before they leave,” Tony pleaded.

“Leave?” You never left a party early if you could help it.

“Yeah, she’s got unpacking to do,” Tony said, “They’ve got an apartment of grounds. Said not getting away from work ever torpedoed her last relationship and she’d learned not to live here.”

Bruce snorted bitterly, “That’s fair,” he said hauling himself off his stool. “If I do this, you don’t try and get us back together,” he warns.

“Eh,” Tony said, “It’ll be more Fun to just let this play out.”

Bruce approaches slowly, feeling like he was going to be sick. You’re leaning on the bar, talking to the Bartender and ordering a drink. You have one foot behind the other and you’re standing on your toes to get a better look at the bottles. The smell of your perfume hits his nose. It’s soft and sweet and reminds him of early Sunday mornings and silk sheets. The feel of you tackling him to the mattress giggling. It’s bittersweet, remembering that so sharply while he watches someone else smiling at you while you bounce excitedly on the balls of your feet. 

“Hey,” he said awkwardly, coughing as you lean up to kiss the guy that had just grabbed a handful of your ass.

At the sound of Bruce’s voice, you spring back, looking embarrassed. Looking like you’d been caught doing something wrong. “Bruce,” you breathe, “How are you? I- This is Charlie.” Bruce knows you’re flustered and he wants to feel bad. He does. But it’s just too cute. It reminds him of all the firsts. The first date, the first kiss, the first time, the first make up. That’s bittersweet too. “Charlie, this is Bruce,” you blurt out, “I- we. Yeah. We’ll probably be working together from time to time.”

“Hi,” Charlie said offering Bruce a hand to shake, “Nice to meet you, finally. Y/N has told me a lot.”

“I’m sure,” Bruce said, watching you sip your drink looking like you’d rather jump off the balcony than do this. “Look,” he said, “I didn’t- I just didn’t want to bother you. I just wanted to say I was glad you’re back, Y/N.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” you tell him smiling a little, “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I guess I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce couldn’t focus.

He was supposed to be getting baselines. He was supposed to be doing a lot of things. But just out of his immediate eyesight, you were sparring with Bucky and damned if he didn’t find himself looking back towards you. The only time he’d ever enjoyed sparring with you was in his bedroom.

Your weight pressing him into the mattress as he struggled uselessly against your hungry, eager, hands. Helplessly, happily borne along with your desires until you saw fit to release him. It was the only time he regretted not being stronger as himself. He wanted to flip you under him desperately. To see the surprise register on your face. To win, just once, when you were being spoiled and needy. And that was all he could think about as he watched Bucky throw you into the mats and pin you.

He had to leave. 

He had to get out of this room. Where he couldn’t see you. Or the sounds you made when fighting. Sounds that sounded just sexual enough that his tormented sex drive was instantly engaged.

Bruce half ran out of the training room, nearly shoving Steve out of his way in his haste to get away. He had to get out. He had to.

It had been so long. 7 months. You’d been broken up 7 months. Almost 8. The air was getting warmer outside. The snow that had been falling was melting to ugly squelching mud. You were happy, apparently. Incandescently so. He had no right to want to charge in there and beg you to take him back. To give him one more chance to make it right. To swear to you he’d give it all up if only to have you. Just one more time.

This wasn’t right, he thought as he barreled into his room. You shouldn’t have this much power over him. He wants to be furious at you. He wants to demand that you stop but. He can’t. You aren’t doing anything. You won’t even look in his direction and you only answer him in the most carefully polite ways. As if he’d never loved you. As if he didn’t know you better than he knew himself. Down to the birthmark on your hip shaped like Rhode Island. And the ticklish spot on your ankle. He hated that it was all so clear. He hated that he loved you still. Still. Even knowing you were with someone else. Knowing someone else was loving you at night when you came home. It hurt. It seared against his heart like a red hot brand. He hated it. 

He stood in the hall, trying to breathe. Trying to hold himself steady. It didn’t register immediately that you were in the hall. Bent over the nearest trash can, dry heaving and whimpering. Bruce almost walks away. He wants to. But he can’t. He’s at your side, hair in his hands carefully. “Jesus,” he murmurs, “You okay?”

A few more seconds pass and you stand upright slowly, wiping your mouth on your sleeve, “I’m fine. Just overheated, I think.”

Bruce frowned, “You sure? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” you murmur, pulling away.

“If you’re sick,” he started, worried.

“I’m not,” you cut him off, “Just overheated.”

“Y/N,” Bruce said, reaching for you. It was the first time he’d seen you up close in ages. You looked tired, under the make up you’d sweated off. 

“I’m fine,” you insist, giving him the same brittle smile you gave him when nothing was fine. After a mission had gone bad and the asset you were supposed to protect had been killed. The same brittle smile you gave him when he tried, without really trying, to make it up to you when he proved to you again that he didn’t think you were important. You back up a step out of his reach and take a deep breath, “I should get going. I need to get dinner started,” you tell him.

It’s a simple sentence. 

When you turn away abruptly, he knows. He knows it was at least a little calculated. A not so gentle reminder that you aren’t his anymore. That you don’t want his help. 

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, not sure what to say after that. He’d been so careful to only use your name. Not to use the endearments that he used when you were his. Or any endearments at all, the way so many of the others did. Casually. As if your name didn’t really fit you and the only thing that did was the pet names they mentally assigned you. 

But you don’t turn around. You walk briskly down the hallway and disappear into another corridor before Bruce can will himself to run after you.

Steve watched for a moment, arms folded across his chest and sighed, “Banner,” he said levelly, “Pretty sure if you want her back this isn’t going to do it.”

Bruce sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, ashamed of himself. “Stay out of it, Steve,” he said, “I thought you liked this new guy.”

“No one likes him,” Steve snorted, “He’s a douche bag.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and Steve shrugged, “I mean, neither one of you deserves her.”

Bruce nodded, “I know. I just-”

Steve cut him off quickly, “We know. We all know. And we’re tired of watching you pining and being a mess. Either do something about it or cut it out. She’s two words from you away from running back to Washington.”

The scientist flinched, “Is that where she went?”

Steve nodded, “Guess she wanted to be cold and miserable on the other side of the country instead.”

“Look, Steve,” Bruce said, adjusting his glasses, “She doesn’t- I mean. She won’t even look at me.”

“Well duh,” Steve laughed, “She’s still in love with you.”

Bruce can’t think. The words come out of Steve’s mouth and all he wants to do is find you and pin you to the nearest wall, kissing you until you melt into a needy puddle. Until he can coax you into a bed and reclaim you for his own. 

Steve gives him a sympathetic look, “Bruce,” he says, “you can’t wait if you want her back.”

______

When you walk through the door of your apartment, feeling exhausted and confused, you’d like to be comforted. You’d like to be able to spew out all the confusing feelings and all the anger you have.

But, you can’t. You know you can’t. Charlie hates hearing about work. He hates hearing about Bruce or Bucky, or any of the men you work with, past romantic implications or no. He gets furious. Yelling and vacillating between threatening to leave and threatening to kill himself if you leave. So you don’t.

“Hey,” he says leaning on the door frame, watching you sip a glass of wine. He doesn’t move to kiss you hello. He doesn’t ask about your day. 

“Hey,” you answer, turning to start dinner. 

“How was work?” he asked, a note of challenge in his voice.

“Work,” you say shrugging, “Just training rookies. Doing some training.”

“Get railed by any super soldiers today?” he asked bitterly. 

“No, I’m pretty sure they’re fucking each other,” you tell him, trying not to really engage.

“So, what. Getting Fucked by that Russian sex doll they call a spy?”

“Charlie,” you gasp, scandalized, “Natasha is a friend. They’re all friends of mine. Just stop. If I’d been fucking anyone today I’d probably be in a lot better mood.”

“So, Banner then?” he growled, getting angry.

“I haven’t had sex with Bruce in over a year,” you snort, “Mostly because it’s hard to have sex with someone who acts like an asshole.”

You aren’t looking at him, too busy trying to ignore him. Too busy trying to make food to give him one less thing to complain about. You don’t see him step forward. You don’t see him picking up the knife and the only thing that saved you, in the end, was years of training that taught you how to deflect such things. Charlie had clearly forgotten that you were cream of the crop. An expert hand to hand combatant. A sniper. A spy. He managed to cut your forearm but there was nothing else. 

By the time he woke up, on the floor, groggy and aching. A splitting headache dicks drawn on his face in sharpie, the apartment was empty and there was a twenty on the counter for a cab.

___________

Bruce heard the commotion in the hall, just outside his room and stuck his head out. It was an odd sight, Avengers moving furniture. Natasha had an arm thrown over your shoulder and was periodically kissing your head. There was a bandage on your wrist, visible because the sleeves of your flannel are rolled up. 

Bruce catches Thor’s eye and the giant of the man gives him a sympathetic look. He finishes putting the chair he’s carrying down and slips away. “I think,” he said, looking stormy and slightly furious, “That the lady has forgotten what she’s worth, courting that villain.”

“What did he do?” Bruce asked, trying not to hear the Hulk roaring in his head. 

“So far as I understand,” Thor said, aware that Bruce’s irises were a little green, “The fool tried to stab her in the middle of an argument.”

Bruce can’t think. There’s a deafening fucking roar in his brain. It rattles every bone in his body and against his will, the Hulk takes his place. Bruce could deal with the longing. With the pain of wanting you this badly. What he can’t take is knowing you were hurt. Knowing someone you loved had hurt you. Had put there hands on you in anyway that wasn’t meant to comfort you. 

The Hulk can’t take it either. He loved you. He’d been furious with Bruce when you left. He’d grieved for you as if you had died. Now, the thought of you being hurt. And scared. Had him ready to tear the other man apart limb from limb.

In the bedroom, you and Natasha trade looks, “Who told him?” you gasp. You’d specifically said you didn’t want him told. Not until you could tell him yourself. And Nat, bless her, had readily agreed. You were the only people who knew about Bruce’s past and the trauma that had lead to the Hulk. About those specific triggers. “Thor,” she groaned, smacking her forehead as you half sprinted into the hall.

You skid on the polished floor, your socks keeping you from getting good traction. “Hulk!” you call out softly, holding your hands out.

The Green giant halts, mid roar and turns to look at you, panting and furious. “Little girl,” he growls, moving forward slowly. 

“I’m okay,” you soothe quickly, showing him your bandaged arm. Hulk huffs and picks you up carefully to inspect you. Looking at your arm and studying your face. 

“You no tell Hulk you in trouble,” he scolds.

“He was in bigger trouble,” you point out.

That makes Hulk smirk and he puts you gently back on the floor, “Hulk miss you,” he said, “Banner miss you too.”

You kiss the Hulk’s cheek gently and smile a little, “I don’t think Banner even knew I was gone,” you say softly. So softly only the Hulk can hear you. Hulk frowns but doesn’t say anything, going back to their assigned room to change back into his more mild-mannered counterpart.

“I told you not to tell him,” You hear Natasha hiss at Thor.

“I forgot,” the Asgardian said, contrite.

And you shut your bedroom door, locking it quietly. It had been a long day and all you wanted to do was sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just know there's one of Bruce's Comics Cannon Origins in this one and those can get pretty dark. This is a milder one, but there's still a discussion of domestic abuse and childhood trauma.

“Y/N, Sweetheart, put the tequila down,” Bucky said once you were four shots from the last of it. You and Natasha had made steady progress on it since Stark’s party had started a few hours ago and you had posted up at the bar, actively ignoring the actual party and choosing instead to get as fucked up as humanly possible. 

“Oh c’mon, Bucky,” Natasha said, “She’s not managed to bruise her nose yet. She’s fine.”

“Shut up. That was one time and it’s not my fault that my nose going numb is how I know I’m fucked up.” You pout and self consciously touch your nose. It’s numb but you don’t care. Thinking sucks. It hurts. If you’re drunk you can’t think. Okay. You can. And you might cry but yelling Freebird at Clint who’s commandeered the Karaoke machine. You and Natasha have a running tally of all the times you managed to fluster him. You were winning and you hadn’t even had to take off an article of clothing to do it.

“I’m not carrying your drunk ass back to your room,” Bucky threatened, plucking the now empty bottle from between you and Natasha.

“Thor will,” Natasha chirps. “You know. Since he’s a gentleman.”

“I’ll what now?” Thor quired handing you a beer and tugging affectionately on a lock of your hair. 

“Carry me to my room when I’m too drunk to walk,” you tell him, snuggling into Natasha’s side. Your arm hurt and you needed someone to cuddle.

“Of course,” Thor chuckled, “you’re liable to get lost if I let you wander upstairs on your own. Then wind up in not your own bed.”

You pout, “Again. That only happened once. And all I wanted was a cuddle.”

“And it was lovely,” Steve drawled, “But you snore.”

“Only when her head is propped up weird,” Clint said fairly, sprawling across your lap and Natasha’s comfortably and you reward him by feeding him the cherry out of the drink someone just handed you. “I’m not a lap dog,” he protested, taking it anyway.

“Are you quite sure about that?” you ask, ruffling his hair affectionately and making his foot twitch.

It was something no one told you about superhero teams, you reflected. How close everyone could get. And how fast it happened. It wasn’t entirely fair to Charlie, you supposed. You had seen ever hero at the bar naked. And they’d seen you naked. It wasn’t even on purpose. It was just a product of close quarters and necessity. It was rarely, if ever sexual. Something Charlie couldn’t grasp. You couldn’t blame him for being jealous. Not with the way everyone was so touchy. 

Clint watched the shift in your mood from his spot on your lap and frowned, “You okay, Kid?” he asked. 

You shrug, “Yeah,” you sigh, “But I think it’s just about time for me to give up on relationships in general.”

“Why?” Clint asked sitting up and shifting his weight to be on the arm of your stool, trusting you to not let him fall.

“I mean, when every relationship you’re in fails you have to be the common denominator,” you say blinking back tears quickly. 

“Oh come on,” he protested, “This last one wasn’t you. He fucking stabbed you.”

“So explain Bruce then. And all the guys before that,” you challenge. Clint wrapped an arm around your shoulder and Natasha smiled a little, “That’s just. That’s bad Luck, kid.”

“I guess if I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any at all,” you snort.

“You and me both, doll,” Bucky said throwing his legs over your lap.

_________

“Tony,” Bruce sighed pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m not coming downstairs.”

“Oh come on,” Tony pouted, “Y/N is there. And she could probably use a friend.”

“She has friends up there. The rest of the team,” he pointed out, “And she’s probably not terribly enthused about seeing me. Not after Last night.”

Tony sighed, “Bruce come on,” he said, “You’re being a baby. Eventually, you two are gonna have to work together.”

“She doesn’t even talk to me like she knows me anymore,” he said, “It’s all perfectly polite and cordial. The way she talks to people she doesn’t want to talk to. She’s like 8 words away from saying “bless your heart” to me like. All the time.”

Tony frowned, “Well it’s not like you weren’t an asshole. Before and after the breakup. You really went and drew all that shit out on her.”

Bruce sighed, “Look. I know. I didn’t treat her right them when she called it quits I acted like it was her fault. I just-” He stopped and sat back in his chair pinching the bridge of his nose. “The way she loves is terrifying,” he said after a long moment.

Tony smiled a little, “Yeah,” he said, “It’s fucking terrible when someone shows you what it’s supposed to be like, isn’t it?”

“I just-” Bruce stopped, looking towards the ceiling as if there was an answer written there. He knew what he wanted to say. Things he’d admitted to only a handful of people. You. Natasha. His Aunt. “The other night, when Thor told me what happened,” he started slowly, “I- I couldn’t take it. Someone had actually hurt her. Not just that but he wanted her dead. And in my mind, all I could see was my mom. She was standing in the driveway. At the top of the hill putting suitcases in the car. We were leaving. And then… Then she was gone. Broken. My Father-” he spat the last word like a curse, “had shoved her down the hill. Trying to stop her going. Trying to stop her from taking me with, even though he hated me. We were property. And he walked. He never saw justice because I let him bully me into saying she fell. I wasn’t brave enough. And I wasn’t brave enough to love Y/N like she deserved. So I pushed her away.”

Bruce wiped away frustrated tears. He didn’t think about that day. Not consciously. It made his chest feel hollow. And now, without you to run to, he ached to feel safe. To feel loving hands carding through his hair and murmuring soothing nonsense that somehow, didn’t feel like nonsense. He wanted to find you and tell you he was sorry, but. How did one apologize for reinforcing all a person’s worst fears? And more than that, using them to break your heart because he wanted to save you. 

Tony blinked. For once at a loss for words. He was thankful that he had sunglasses on. That Bruce couldn’t see the tears welling up. “You’re trying to tell me you did all this shit to protect her?”

Bruce nodded, “Not- not on purpose but, yeah.”

“Bruce, you fucking idiot,” he sighed, “That makes no sense.”

“I just-” He stopped and chuckled bitterly, “I just wanted her safe. Even if that meant safe from me.”

“And the Hulk?” Tony asked curiously?

“No. Just me,” he said, smiling a little, “In some ways, he loves her in ways I’ll never really understand. The way kids do, you know? She’s a safe person. And he knows it. That’s why he listens to her.”

“Maybe you should catch that habit,” Tony said shrugging and tugging him out of his chair.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “Maybe.”


	4. Chapter 4

Bruce didn’t look up when you leaned against the door of his lab for a second, hesitating, not sure if you were welcome. But he still knew you were there. Because the Hulk knew. He could smell you and he could pick out the patter of your steps on the marble floor. Hulk always knew where you were, still wholly devoted to keeping you safe. 

He waited, breathless, trying to pretend he was still working. He didn’t want you to go. He wanted you to stay. He wanted you to curl up in your chair, still waiting in the corner for you. He still had a blanket for you too, waiting in a desk drawer where he’d thrown it, trying not to look at it when there was no more you. When the insomnia you got from time to time got too bad when the nightmares and sleep paralysis got too bad.

You stopped, arms wrapped around yourself, elbows in your hands. You look cold and exhausted. Bruce knew, even without going to the meeting that it had been a hard mission. You and Bucky and Nat had had it rough from the start and it had only gotten worse. Just one bad day after another. Bruce wants to put you in your chair and just let you sleep. Being in the lab always put you to sleep. Probably, he reflected, a by-product of all the white noise and listening to him drone on about shit you didn’t know or care about. Not that you ever acted bored. But your skill set wasn’t this. Academic research bored you to tears. Conferences, when Bruce brought you with him, just made you exhausted. It was a lot of fussy scientists and a lot of people trying to oggle you. And you weren’t able to break their hands if they got touchy. So, the two of you decided it was best you not go. You were miserable and that made Bruce unhappy with made Hulk incidents a lot more likely. 

But you don’t stay. You don’t creep in and snuggle into your chair, curled up like a little cat in your oversized sweater and booty shorts, knees pulled to your chest under your sweater. You don’t ask Bruce what he’s working on. He doesn’t look over to you mid-sentence and see you fast asleep.

He does look up as you step away. He watches your back retreat down the hallway. The Hulk watches too, in his mind’s eye and Bruce listens to him growl softly. You’re getting sick and that’s all the other guy can see. You’re sick and you’re sad. And that hurts Bruce in a way that goes beyond watching you walk away from him. He hates that pushing you away didn’t just hurt him. That when he couldn’t take having you there as a safe place, he took yours away too. 

When you’re gone, Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose and sinks back into his chair. In his mind, all he can see is every argument. You trying, so desperately to make him happy. All the dates you planned. All the times you tried to entice him. Tried to feel wanted and loved. All the times he pulled back or pulled away. All the dates that he didn’t pay attention to you the way he should have. The nights of coming home to you in lingerie and not giving you the adoration you were craving. 

“You’re acting like a child!”

He’d said that to you. A lot. Whenever you’d been upset with him, mostly. He’d spent a lot of time, playing those fights back in his mind. You’d been Vulnerable. Holding your arms out and pleading with him to just hear you. To hear you and see that this was eating you alive. He had thought, for a while, after you left that you’d been relieved to not have to deal with him anymore. But now? Now he isn’t sure. You’d gone because that’s what he wanted, he knew. But you hadn’t wanted to. You’d wanted to stay, to make it all work. You loved him, he realized. He guessed he’d always known that. But what he was starting to realize that leaving meant that you’d had to love yourself more. To love yourself the way you deserved. The way he wasn’t doing it. 

__________

He hesitated outside the door of your room. It would be easy, he knew, to knock. To ask you how long it had been since you’d slept. To try and get you to go to medical for help. 

“Bruce, what are you doing?” you ask softly. The sound of your voice behind him makes him jump, but the sight of you, too big hoodie almost to your knees and a book clutched to your chest makes him melt. You look exhausted and tentative and he wants to tuck you into your bed and ply you with hot drinks and hold you until you can sleep. 

“I- I was just- Are you okay?” he asked.

You shrug and try to smile a little, “I’m fine.”

Bruce quirks an eyebrow, “Y/N,” he murmured, “How long have you been awake?”

“I don’t know, I think I got like 3 hours of sleep sometime yesterday.”

“Sweetheart,” he started.

“It’s not your problem,” you say, cutting him off, feeling defensive. 

“It is if you’re not in fighting shape,” he sighed, “This is bad, Y/N. How many times? Have you been to medical?”

You shrug, “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” he itched to shake you. You had a self-destructive streak. A wide one. And Bruce isn’t exactly surprised that you’re coming apart at the seams. He knew you’d tried to go work with SHEILD in California instead of here. That you’d said without saying you couldn’t deal with your feelings about Bruce. “Either you go to medical or I go to Steve and get you benched.” A bad break up. A rough mission. And complicated feelings. It felt like a life time ago when you trusted him to help you deal with this. When you’d climb into his lap and he could coax you into telling him about it. 

Nothing was going to do that for you now though. You slipped past him without a word and shut the door in his face. You’re angry at him, he knows, for interfering. For telling you what to do when you didn’t ask him. Bruce takes a deep breath and shoves the door open after you. “Y/N,” he pleads quietly, “Please. Just talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say, Bruce? We were together two years,” you tell him, “I talked. A lot. And in the end, it didn’t matter.”

Bruce winced, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Are you? Or do you just miss having a punching bag?”

Bruce felt like you hit him. He hated that you felt that way. That he didn’t love you. That this didn’t come from a place of concern. You’re sleep-deprived and feeling rattled. Angry at yourself that you forgot how hard it is to hide things from Bruce. He knows. He just knows no matter how well you can hide things from other people. Bruce doesn’t step forward and make an attempt to touch you. To wipe away the tears that are starting to fall as you stand there trembling.

“Look,” Bruce said, rocking back on his heels, “I know I was a dick. I’ve spent my every waking minute hating myself and replaying every single fight we ever had. You’re right. You were always right and I was too stupid to realize it until I pushed you away.”

“What-” 

“No,” he said holding up a hand, “I’m not asking you to take me back. I’m not even asking for another chance. Because I don’t deserve it. I really don’t. You deserve better than what I gave you. All I want right now. Right this second is for you to be okay. You’re coming apart, baby. I’m watching you get a little more frayed every day. Please. Let me get you to sleep? Okay?”

You start crying in earnest and Bruce can’t take it. He scoops you up carefully and kisses your cheeks, wiping tears away. “Let’s get you in the shower okay?” he soothes. “Hot shower now and some tea? Do you wanna watch a movie? I’m gonna get a movie for you. We’ll get you patched up, baby. Shh it’s okay.”

Bruce is careful. Careful not to press. Or exploit too many of the things he knows. And you let him. You’re just so tired and so disoriented.

By the time he has you on the couch, pinned between him and the sofa, banking on the pressure and warmth to put you into a good sleep, he wants to beg you to take him back. He wants you like this again, soft and asleep on his shoulder. Comforted. He’s careful not to move you too much, careful to keep things chaste while also keeping contact with you. It’s never mattered who holds you as long as you’re being held, tightly. Preferably wrapped in blankets. Almost the way someone swaddles an infant. Though, Bruce reflects, you’re mostly a burrito. The thought still makes him smile and he can’t help it, he brushes a tender kiss against the top of your head. 

Safe.

This is safe. 

He is safe and everything is okay because you’re here. And for the first time in 8 long months, Bruce sleeps and he doesn’t dream. The Hulk is quiet. At rest, though he’s watchful. Standing guard to make sure no one can take you from him now that he has you where he likes you. He never stopped loving you, not even when he tried to convince you that he had. And even if you don’t love him anymore, Bruce knows he probably won’t ever stop. This is the happiest he’s been all year.


	5. Chapter 5

‘Barton,” you bark over the din, “Let’s fucking go!” You grab the back of his collar and pull him after you, straddling the nearest motorcycle and trusting him to watch your back while you get the two of you out of this mess.

Below you, you can hear the rest of the team trying to control the chaos and manage the fall out. “Go,” Clint said, firing and you don’t need telling twice, giving it gas and racing across the rooftop. 

Over comms, Hulk can hear you being fired at and Barton swearing. That makes him anxious but, what’s gonna give him a heart attack is hearing you say, “Fuck I hope this works,” Moments before you attempt the jump the ledge of the building.

Hulk roars and the rest of the team look up, watching as you not only jump the ledge but also ride down an outcropping of steel beam until you’re back on ground level. “Hulk,” you shout, killing the engine, “That building’s clear of civilians, go have fun buddy.” Hulk glares at you. He hates it when you do unnecessarily dangerous shit. And that so many people seem to encourage you doing it. Like Clint who’s now laughing and high fiving you and Sam who’s giving a very animated replay. His steps shake the ground and he takes great pleasure in destroying the building. It’s a way for him to deal with his frustrations without punching a teammate, something he’s been told is frowned upon. His destruction is calculated and quick. His specialty. The building is dangerous but then, so is Hulk. All he can see in his mind is you being fired at. The grim determination on your face. You fight like you have nothing to lose. Like no one would miss you if you were gone. And Hulk can’t stand it. He wants to bellow at you that he’d miss you. That you’re important. But he can’t. He doesn’t know how to tell you that. He can’t do that. All he knows is that seeing you bleeding makes him feel like tearing the city apart. He’d tear a man limb from limb for you. No one is allowed to hurt you. Even if you’d let them. You deserve the moon. You deserve to be Queen. To him, you are queen and he’s your willing servant. But he doesn’t know how to tell you that. He doesn’t know how to protect you from yourself. Or say that that’s what he wants to do. 

What he does know is that when he picks you up, you don’t protest. A combination of blood loss and dwindling adrenaline leaving you less irritable than you might otherwise be. He cradles you against his chest carefully and holds you still. He knows that you’re cold. Chilled from the bloodloss. Hulk knows. He can feel the shift in your temperature. He doesn’t speak but, after you fall asleep, he refuses to let you go. He growls at Steve when he tries to take you from him.

“Hulk,” he says, “She needs to go to medical.”

Hulk growls and holds you closer, “Hulk fix. Hulk protect.”

“You can protect her by taking her to medical,” he tries, “Tell Bruce they gotta dig a bullet out of her shoulder.”

Hulk frowns but nods, he has no intention of letting Banner near you. You’re safe and Banner can’t keep you safe. Not like Hulk can. Banner made you go away. You weren’t safe away from Hulk, he decided. He had to make you stay. You made it okay. He only felt okay with you. 

Hulk let you go in medical only when he absolutely needs to. He’s reluctant to even then, but he knows it could be dangerous to not let you go. Once you’ve disappeared out of sight, he lets Banner come back around. He reasons that while you’re with medical, Banner can’t make you go away because he can’t talk to you.

As Bruce lay on the floor, panting and a little disoriented, bits and pieces filter to the surface. “Hulk, what the fuck,” he breathes out loud, albeit softly.

In his head, the Hulk’s rumbling laugh gives Bruce a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The Hulk, he’s learned now, is a manifestation of his anger. A way to protect himself. But also, a manifestation of his inner child in a way. Demanding. Selfish. Easily hurt. But also possessing the capacity to be loving and endlessly kind with the right nurturing. Things he didn’t get when he was very small. He’d spent a King’s Ransom on therapy. Intense therapy after you left. He wanted to come to grips with things. To cope with you being gone. But instead, he’d gotten a better understanding of the Other Guy. “Hulk,” he warns, “Don’t interfere.”

“Banner stupid,” Hulk growls, “Hulk make her stay.”

“Hulk,” he says, stepping into an empty room, “I know you love her. But we can’t force her to stay.”

“Not force,” Hulk pouts, “Convince.”

“No,” Bruce pleads, “No convincing either. I know you love her. I love her too. But if we love her we’ve got to do this on HER terms. Her way.”

“Y/N not love us?”

Bruce sighs, “I don’t know.” He honestly doesn’t. In his mind, he sees you asleep on his chest. Sinking into sleep for the first time for an untold number of hours. Finally getting rest because he managed to relax you. He used the things he’d learned. Things he learned in two years of being hand in hand with you. It had felt so right, having you close. But. The next morning you were awkward and anxious. Keeping a careful distance between the two of you. You’d been apologetic. Sorry that you inconvenienced him. Thankful that he’d helped you but sorry that he had to. You’d hugged him quickly and then practically thrown him out, saying that you were sure he was busy and you hadn’t meant to keep him from work. It had stung but he understood. Bruce had called you needy as an insult. Used your insecurities to drive you away. Used a lifetime of trying to be low maintenance as a way to get love as a way to hurt you.

“You love her?” Hulk asked in a huff.

“You know I do,” he said, “That’s why you love her.”

“Love hard,” Hulk said sounding defeated.

“Only because I made it that way,” Bruce answers, “But we have to give her time. And we have to be happy for her. Even if it means she’s happy without us.”

“But-”

“But what?” Bruce presses.

“People hurt her,” Hulk growled, “People not take care of her.”

Bruce smiles a little. Hulk was fiercely protective of his people. And he wasn’t sure if Hulk saw you as a lover or just as a feminine source of nurturing. But he was 110% sure that he considered you his people. 

“She can take care of herself,” Bruce said gently, “Better than we can.”

“Wimpy boy stab her,” Hulk growled.

“And she beat the hell out of him,” Bruce reminded, “And Nat told me that he was in rough fucking shape when they got there.”

“She cry,” Hulk insisted.

“Well yeah, Being stabbed hurts,” he tried to joke.

“No,” Hulk growled, “Heart hurts.”

“I know,” Bruce sighed, “But it’s better. At least she’s with friends.”

“Friends,” Hulk growled.

“Yes, Friends,” Bruce insisted, “They’ll help keep her safe okay?”

Hulk didn’t answer him, but Bruce could feel him. Waiting. Scowling. Angry at him for not saying that you needed to be kept safe and Hulk was best at doing it.

_______________

Bruce let himself into the lab and sat at his desk. He didn’t know where else to go. It felt like a lifetime ago that he’d be in medical with you. Anxiously checking and rechecking machines and trying to fuss over you until you gently, but firmly found an errand for him to run. Now, he was anxious in his lab. Afraid that if he went up there he’d make you put more distance in place trying to protect yourself. 

He sat staring blankly at monitors, unable to focus. Unable to not worry about you. He was so deep into the anxiety that he didn’t even hear Steve. Not until he was standing in front of the desk and clearing his throat.

Steve smiled a little when Bruce jumped, “In a meeting?” he asked.

“No,” Bruce said shaking his head, “We already did that. The other guy is uh- not too happy with me.”

“Is he ever?”

“He was once.”

Steve nodded, impressed, “When was that?”

“When I told him Y/N was going to have a baby,” Bruce said a little sadly.

The Blonde froze for a second, “When-” 

The panic on his face was evident. Worried that he might have just stepped on an open wound. 

“About a year and a half ago,” he said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “She lost it not long after we found out. Just- nothing we could really do. It was just stress. And the strain. We weren’t ready but that didn’t make it feel better.”

“I’m sorry-” Steve started, “I never knew.”

“No one did,” Bruce reassured him, “Y/N might have told Nat but… we decided not to tell people for a while. She’d been through this before when she was 17. It hadn’t- I mean.” Bruce sighed, “Yeah.”

Steve nodded, “So what did you do now?”

“It’s a long story,” Bruce said looking away.

“Well,” Steve said backing off of it, “Medical said she’s fine. They’ve got her patched up and they’re giving her a unit of blood then they’ll probably let her loose… Nat wants to do Movie night if you’re up for it.”

“Is Y/N coming?” Bruce asked, feeling shy.

“Maybe,” Steve answered, “Sam might help her downstairs.”

“Sam?” Bruce asked quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Steve said carefully, “There’s… I think he’s nursing a bit of a crush after today.”

“She could do worse,” Bruce said, looking back towards his computer. He knew it was true but that didn’t stop the churning in his stomach and the rush of heat in his face.


	6. Chapter 6

Bruce tried to not see the eyes Sam was making at you. He liked Sam. He respected him as a man and as a colleague. But in the back of his mind, watching him flirt with you hurt. A lot.

He was good at it, quick to make you laugh. Quicker to flatter you. Bruce reflected with a pang that he had pined over you for ages before finally making a move. And when he had, it had only been because he accidentally spilled coffee on you. He’d felt so bad, but he hadn’t been able to resist you. He’d helped you get cleaned up and somewhere in the middle of all that, he’d somehow managed to convince you to come to dinner. 

You had and it had been nice. It had felt good, having you tucked against his side. But now as he watches you now, giggling at Something Sam had said just made him feel a little sick. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hear you laugh like that. He definitely couldn’t remember the last time he had made you laugh like that. 

Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous. At least a little bit. But still, he couldn’t be too terribly angry about it. You were free and clear. You’d broken up. And had been broken up a while. You hadn’t done anything to necessarily make Bruce believe that you were going to take him back. You never had. 

“Sam,” you sigh.

Bruce pauses in his work and tries not to listen, even as he holds his breath.

“Baby,” Sam says grinning, “It’ll be fine. Let’s go get dinner.”

“I can’t,” you tell him, “I really can’t.”

Sam’s smile falls and he nods, “If it’s about Bruce-” he starts.

“It is and... it isn’t. It’s mostly about me,” you explain.

Sam nods and tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, “What about you, gorgeous?” he asked.

You sigh, “I just... It’s been a really long year. I tried dating someone. I really did. I wanted it to work and I cared about him but in the end... I just. Well I wound up getting stabbed. And I move back in here and it just-” you trail off and smile a little sadly, “I still have feelings for Bruce. And it’s not fair for me to get involved with you while that’s the case.”

“Oh.” He exhaled slowly and pulled you into a hug gently. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, “You’ve never done anything but be nice to me.”

“No,” Sam said smiling, “It’s okay. It really is. I mean. It sucks because you’re really fucking pretty but I understand. And I appreciate you being honest.”

“Thanks, Sam,” you murmur, “We can still be friends, right?”

“Well, duh,” he says, chucking you under the chin gently.

_______________

Bruce let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. The admission that you have feelings for him. It made his chest feel warm. It felt better. He felt better. And in the back of his mind, he could hear the Hulk growling in the back of his mind. He was pleased. Excited even.

He knew it didn’t mean there was a chance. It didn’t mean that you were going to take him back and everything was going to be fine, but it did mean that he wasn’t alone. That it wasn’t just him. He couldn’t breathe looking at you half the time and he’d been terrified that it was one-sided. That he was going to be a creepy ex that made you feel stalked. But, as he watched you walk away with Sam, he’s thrilled to know it isn’t and he isn’t going to wind up a Creepy Ex story. 

_________

“Y/N?” 

You look up slowly and sigh, “Hey, Bruce,” you answer, “What”s up?”

“I- I overheard you talking with Sam,” he admits, folding his arms across his chest.

‘I’m pathetic, I know,” you say, looking away.

Bruce feels his heart clench uncomfortably, “No,” he said, “I just. I wanted you to know I heard... I wasn’t trying to listen. I was working and I had the door cracked.”

You nod, “Okay.”

“I- Y/N, I just-” he exhaled slowly, “How are you doing?”

“My side is fine,” you answer, careful not to talk about your feelings. Feelings tend to be fraught and leave you feeling raw.

Bruce nods and unfolds his arms, stepping slightly closer, “And hows everything else?” he asks. It’s a broad question. He knows that it is. But he knows that if he puts too fine a point on it, you’ll shut down. 

“There are good days and bad days,” you answer. You’d wanted the baby you were going to have. You’d been so excited. And then... that hadn’t been an option anymore. Neither you or Bruce had been prepared to deal with the loss. Or the feelings and it had pulled you apart. 

“And what’s today?”

“Today is an okay day,” you sigh. Bruce nods and reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours gently. 

“I’m still sorry,” he said gently, “I should have been there for you. Supported you better.”

You smiled a little, “It’s fine. It’s not- I don’t think we would have made it even if you had.”

“No?” Bruce hummed.

“No,” you answer, “I just... I don’t think I could make it work with anyone. Not even you.”

Bruce wants to press but when you let go of his hand, he lets you. Feelings don’t come easily for you. You learned quickly to stay quiet and keep your head down. Make no demands and avoid any interpersonal conflict. 

He didn’t like to admit it but he had had to struggle not to exploit that when some of his own shitty learned behaviors reared their ugly head. There had been times where he had. Where he’d push buttons to make you feel vulnerable so you’d go along. And it made him feel like a monster after he’d done it. He’d felt like a monster often.

“Y/N,” he tutted softly, “What on earth does that mean?”

“It means I’m giving up,” you sigh, “I’m done with relationships. I’m just not supposed to have them.”

Bruce snorts, “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “You don’t mean that.”

“I really do,” you tell him tightly, “There’s not one fucking person that I’ve dated that I haven’t just broken somehow.”

“You didn’t break me.”

“Didn’t I?” 

“No. You didn’t. That... I did all the breaking.”

You’re very still and not looking at him. Bruce can’t stop himself. He walks around the desk and pulls you against him, tilting your chin up to kiss you softly. It’s the barest pressure of his lips against yours, leaving you room to pull away if you needed to. But you don’t. You lean against him wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing against him. It feels right. You remember the feel of this like you still did it every day. Bruce tangles his fingers in your hair tenderly and carefully pushes you back against the wall. 

When he finally feels you pull away, he lets you go. “Bruce,” you breathe softly, looking up at him, “That’s not fair.”

“Couldn’t let you think you were wrong,” he murmured, “Please don’t just give up. You deserve better.”

“Bruce-”

“You deserve love, Y/N,” he says softly, “Even if it isn’t from me.”

“Bruce,” you say a little more firmly, “Kiss me again?”

And for once, Bruce doesn’t think twice. He does.


End file.
